Page 37 of Maksym

I let the admission stand. There was no point pretending power was harmless merely because I intended to use mine gently with her. I had trapped men. I had cornered enemies until every door out led through me. I had built a kingdom out of rules and consequences, and I would not insult her intelligence by pretending a crown was only decorative.

But she was not my enemy. She was a woman whose hand had bent a fork without noticing. A woman fighting sleep like sleep itself might touch her without permission.

“Will someone be outside the door?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Taras?”

“If he has his way.”

“And if I want him gone?”

“Then he will be farther down the corridor and offended in silence. He is your brother now, as he is mine.”

A breath left her. Not quite a laugh, but its ruined cousin. It was enough to make me grateful in a way that embarrassed me.

“He really does alphabetize knives, doesn’t he?” she asked.

“Swords first. Knives by length, then by origin.”

This time the corner of her mouth moved. Barely. It vanished almost as soon as it appeared, but I saw it.

Her lashes lowered. She forced them open. “What if I wake up hungry and hurt someone?”

“You will not be alone long enough for that to happen.”

“That wasn’t an answer.”

“It was a promise.”

“Maksym.”

My name in her mouth stopped me.

She had not said Majesty. Had not said vampire. Had not said monster. The sound of my given name, tired and edged with warning, settled under my skin with more force than any title.

I lowered my voice. “If you wake hungry, you call for Millie. Or Taras. Or me. There will be blood wine within reach, but if you are disoriented and cannot drink safely, someone will help. No humans will be placed near you. No donor will be offered until you are steady and understand what is being asked of you.”

Her throat moved.

“You will not be allowed to accidentally harm someone in this house,” I said. “Not because you are restrained. Because you will be cared for.”

She looked as if she disliked that answer because part of her wanted to believe it.

I knew the feeling. Trust, when it first returned after betrayal, did not arrive like a guest. It crept in like a trespasser and made a person resent the unlocked window.

“How long before I’m safe?” she whispered.

“You are safe now.”

Her expression went hard.

I corrected myself. “Before you feel safe? I do not know.”

That answer she accepted, though it saddened her. Or perhaps exhaustion did. Her shoulders sank by a fraction, and this time she did not immediately pull them back into place.

Nothing had ever required more discipline than sitting across from Grace while she tried not to fall asleep.